fool's gold
by swanfrost
Summary: Kuramochi's never been the type to sit still, stay quiet, out of trouble and out of mind. When he wants something, he goes for it, plunging in head first; no questions asked. In the same vein, Kuramochi is not used to being careful. [or - kuraryou first meeting. canon compliant.]


fool's gold

a/n: inspired by: asofterworld(.com)/index(.php)?id=938

has this concept been done ten million times before? yes. am i writing it again? yes. i fuckin love kuraryou

* * *

Kuramochi's never been the type to sit still, stay quiet, out of trouble and out of mind. When he wants something, he goes for it, plunging in head first; no questions asked. This is, he likes to think, the product of a childhood filled with scrapes on his knees from alleyway fighting and callouses on his hands from baseball - both driven by fire and passion and leave little room for doubt.

In the same vein, Kuramochi is not used to being careful. He is not used to watching where he places his hands and feet or what words slide off his tongue. It's served him well enough in baseball – the satisfying swing of the bat, base-running courses paved through instinct and experience. In middle school, Kuramochi would have been hard pressed to meet someone who could keep up with his sharp tongue and fast legs, the whirlwind of his laughter and unpredictability of his fists too much for most to handle.

At Seidou, Kuramochi meets someone who takes one look at him and spits on everything he thought he'd had.

"You suck," the second year says, out of the blue, danger glinting off his small, sardonic smile. In fact, he doesn't even _look_ at Kuramochi - his eyes seem to slide right past him, as if the boy were talking to the air next to Kuramochi's head.

Kuramochi inhales sharply, grimacing at the taste of dirt in his mouth and glares.

Everything about the boy - Kominato Ryousuke, Kuramochi learns - projects blaring warning signs to anyone in his vicinity. _Do not approach_ , his posture says. _If you waste my time I'll cut your tongue out,_ his smile suggests. Kuramochi could've sworn he'd actually heard Kominato say that to a third year, but he can't be sure.

If Kuramochi had any common sense, he'd keep his head down and quietly, steadily work his way toward the level of the Seidou first-stringers.

Unfortunately, Kuramochi's got no self-preservation to speak of and a bursting temper honed through years of backstreet alleyways so the next time he's on the field with Kominato and after being subjected to a torrent of insults and mocking comments Kuramochi draws himself up and snarls, "So, what's your problem?"

Kominato pauses, deliberately letting silence fall between them before turning around and tilting his head slightly, very much like a hawk considering its prey.

"Well, I'm sorry to break it to you," Kominato says, voice honey smooth, "but unless you step up your game, you're going to be sitting in the bleachers for the rest of your high school career with such a pathetic skillset."

By this time, some of the other upperclassmen have paused in their practice, noticing Kominato's broken focus. Kuramochi very suddenly feels the weight of many, many judging stares burning into his back.

"You could - "

"End of conversation, first year." Kominato cuts him off and Kuramochi notices the flashes of irritation that cross the other boy's face. "You're holding up practice."

After that, Kuramochi shuts up, embarrassment burning low and hot in his belly. But he can't help stealing quick glances at Kominato's small frame, watching how every step he takes is full of power and full of purpose, as if he is declaring to the world – _this field is mine, this base is mine, and no one will trespass on its grounds._

Kuramochi knows that you shouldn't fight fire with fire, that Kominato's sheer determination probably burns hotter than his own. But he has also never been one to back down from a challenge, especially one stated so plain and clear. In a pause between reps, Kuramochi stretches his arms and laughs quietly to himself, grinning as his new resolve kick-starts a sort of excitement he hasn't felt in a long, long time.

He doesn't notice Ryousuke's eyes on him, calculating, discerning.

* * *

"Ryousuke," Jun says over dinner a couple days later, "Shouldn't you be a bit easier on that Kuramochi kid? We don't want him to self-destruct before he gets his bearings."

Almost instinctively, Ryousuke's gaze slides over a couple tables to where Kuramochi and Miyuki are sitting, courageously picking rice grains out of their too-full bowls.

"I think he'll be fine," he responds nonchalantly, "He's not the type to give up just because his feelings are hurt."

A pause, then Jun frowns. "If you say so. Sometimes he looks like he wants to knife you, but maybe that's just me."

Ryousuke simply smiles mysteriously and continues eating.

* * *

Over time, Kuramochi begins to mess up less, hit more consistently, and run faster than he's ever run before. It's _fun_ , such exhilarating fun that Kuramochi almost forgets his pseudo-grudge against Kominato and his resolve to get the upperclassman to compliment him, just _once_.

Unfortunately, Kuramochi is rudely reminded of it when tournament season begins and he finds himself in the bleachers, looking down at the tiny figures running about. Miyuki, the bastard, is sitting in the dugout – the only first year to be on the first string. Kuramochi comforts himself over the fact that Miyuki is still a reserve and probably won't get to play often, until the third years retire.

(Much too soon, Kuramochi will be proven wrong. But for now, he sits and seethes, wishing with all his might that he could be on the field, playing his heart out.)

* * *

The first time Kominato says something that _isn't_ an insult or an order to him, Kuramochi almost fumbles and drops the ball he's holding. It's after a set of particularly rough fielding drills, in an unnaturally humid spring morning, said so out of place that Kuramochi could've sworn he'd misheard it.

"You're going to catch flies if you keep your mouth open for too long," Kominato finally says, breaking the silence.

"But – you just – "

Kominato, the bastard, asks, "I just _what_ , Kuramochi? Have you never been complimented before?"

 _Not by you,_ Kuramochi wants to yell, but Kominato's smile just widens. Fuck – Kuramochi is definitely being laughed at.

"Well," Kominato hums, "I suppose compliments are off the table then. I'll take note of that."

 _Wait, no –_ Kuramochi is absolutely internally screaming now, but Kominato is already walking away, hands clasped behind the back and no tension in his shoulders, like he'd just commented about the weather instead of decidedly ripping Kuramochi's coherency to shreds.

Maybe he's being a little dramatic, but Kuramochi pinches himself out of his stupor and swears under his breath that he _will_ manage to make Kominatio acknowledge him. One day.

 _I've got fireflies where my caution should be._

There is a certain method to the madness that is Seidou baseball, and an even more mysterious method to the enigma that is Kominato Ryousuke. To be honest, Kuramochi has never considered trying to actively seek it out the answers; his current life consists of baseball, baseball, baseball, and maybe a little bit of actual school.

In the end, it hardly matters, because as time goes on, Kuramochi finds himself spending time with Kominato even outside of practice. He's there in the evenings, after dinner, swinging away with the rest of the first string underneath the soft glow of the indoor practice shed. Kuramochi, being a second-stringer, is forced to find his own plot of grass behind the dorms to practice in. But he passes by the building, eyes drawn to flashes of pink before it falls out of view. Kominato begins to show up in the weekly (turning into nightly) rendezvous in Miyuki's dorm, mostly sitting near Jun-san and Tetsu-san and watching smugly as the first years are forced to make vending machine runs. Maybe Kuramochi is unconsciously _looking_ for Kominato now (a preposterous idea), because he now has a running tally of times he's seen Kominato during the school day. (Once before first period, walking up the staircase with Tetsu-san and Jun-san; once in the cafeteria, but never again, as Kominato doesn't seem to have the same lunch period as him; once in the hallway as Kuramochi is walking to class – but Kominato turns a corner before Kuramochi can open his mouth; once…)

So it's not _his_ fault when one day, during practice, Kominato catches a particularly tricky hit and his first reaction is to yell, "Nice one, Ryousuke-san!"

Kominato freezes for a moment, almost forgets to step on base to tag the runner, Miyuki, out. Thankfully, Kominato is not a fool like Kuramochi, and snaps out of it quickly, perhaps stepping on second base with more force than needed.

One knowing smirk from Miyuki is enough to shut Kuramochi's brain down. As the snickering catcher jogs away, having been tagged out, Kuramochi tries to apologize. He can't seem to form proper words, and ends up coughing instead.

Luckily, the next batter is already stepping up to the plate, so Kominato's sharp, unsettling stare lingers over Kuramochi for only a few, tense moments before he turns back to face the batter. Thankful for the distraction, Kuramochi shakes himself out of his stupor and resolves to forget about the whole damn thing.

* * *

"So, _Ryousuke-san_ , huh?" is the first thing Miyuki says to him after practice, shit-eating grin forever present on his face. Kuramochi instinctively crushes his water bottle in his fist.

"None of your business," Kuramochi snarls, already feeling his face heat up. "It was an accident."

Miyuki looks positively delighted at this new development. "Of course. Just an accident."

In response, Kuramochi contemplates the pros and cons of murder.

 _(Instead of slowing down, I just shine brighter_.)

As the team moves into the heart of competition season, the tension rises exponentially. The first string practices intensify, leaving little time for experimentation with promising second stringers. Kuramochi spends most of his time outside of school slaving away on practice field B and swinging away until it feels like his arms are about to fall off. More often than not, he drags himself to bed and immediately passes out from exhaustion.

All of this is excellent distraction from the _Kominato Ryousuke problem_ , as Kuramochi goes days with seeing Kominato maybe once or twice throughout the entire day. They haven't spoken a single word to each other in that time.

Of course, this false sense of security is quickly shattered.

After dinner, the evening before the first match of the summer regionals, Kominato very decidedly blocks off Kuramochi's exit and says, "Kuramochi, meet me near the vending machines in ten minutes." Unsurprisingly, it is less of a request and more of an order.

His knee-jerk reaction is to say _ok, sure, what's wrong?_ because his mama didn't raise a savage, but one look at Kominato's carefully blank expression and he bites down on his cheek so hard he tastes blood.

"Um," Kuramochi eloquently replies, suddenly feeling very small, even if Kominato is at least a head shorter than him.

"Good. See you then," Kominato turns on his heel and glides out the door, leaving Kuramochi to stare after him in a dazed stupor.

He's rudely knocked out of it by a stinging slap on the shoulder. When Kuramochi whips his head around, snarling defensively, he is met with the sight of Miyuki wringing out his hand, wincing at the pain. Kuramochi glares, mentally screaming _GO AWAY_ ; but of course Miyuki can't hear him.

"Dude," Miyuki says, shoulders shaking as if he is holding back laughter, "Stop freaking out. He's not going to do anything terrible to you."

"Yeah, like you would know," Kuramochi snaps.

"I _practice_ with him. Every day. Kominato-senpai's not as bad as he seems, I promise."

Miyuki waves a lazy _goodbye_ as he leaves the cafeteria, leaving Kuramochi to stew over his choices. He could turn tail and run, avoid Kominato for as long as he possibly can – but Kuramochi isn't a quitter, and he most certainly isn't a coward.

Besides, Kuramochi realizes, feet moving toward the door, he's been a little lonely the past couple of days. To avoid Kominato, he'd had to skip out on the nightly gatherings, spend as little time outside of the classrooms as possible, and pointedly ignore practice field A and its constituents. Now, underneath the night sky, with nothing but the white noise of nature surrounding him, it's as if Kuramochi's mind has suddenly cleared, and he's finally realizing how goddamn stubborn he's been –

He ends up in front of the vending machines before he knows it; the soft glow of them don't register immediately, and Kuramochi doesn't see Kominato until he steps out of the shadows and tosses Kuramochi a can.

Reflexively, Kuramochi reaches out and snags the can ( _green tea_ ). It's almost like an infield pass on the diamond, except Kuramochi's fingers curl around the can in all the wrong ways, and condensation slides across his skin.

"Hi, Ry-Kominato-senpai," Kuramochi manages to stutter out, hoping that Kominato doesn't catch the slip of his tongue.

"You can call me Ryousuke, you know," Kominato says, tell-tale smile curling up his lips. "I don't care that much for formalities."

"I – "

"What I _do_ care about," Kominato ( _Ryousuke_ ) says, "are your pathetic attempts to avoid me."

Then, Ryousuke falls silent, as if expecting Kuramochi to speak up and defend his honor. But Kuramochi's still wrapping his mind around _you can call me Ryousuke_ and can't do anything but gape.

As if expecting this reaction, Ryousuke laughs, startling Kuramochi out of his stupor.

"Wait," he blurts out. Ryousuke raises an eyebrow and pops open his can of juice. "Wait."

"Yes, Kuramochi?" Ryousuke says, looking wildly amused.

There are a million and one things running through Kuramochi's head right now, but of course he has to sputter, "So you don't hate me after all?"

Ryousuke pauses, can pressed against his lips. He regards Kuramochi with an odd look, one that borders on amusement but straddles incredulousness. Kuramochi gets the distinct feeling that he is being ridicules in Ryousuke's head. When Ryousuke doesn't respond, Kuramochi feels his face getting progressively redder and decides to run away to Hokkaido and never come back.

"Hmm," Ryousuke says, after he's flustered Kuramochi to an acceptable degree, "I wonder."

" _Ryou-san!"_ Kuramochi cries out, covering his face with his hands, green tea forgotten on the bench beside him. "Stop messing with me, _please_."

"Oh, so it's _Ryou-san_ now? You sure move fast."

Kuramochi chokes, brain finally catching up with his mouth. _Now_ he's blushing something fierce, running his hands through his hair, excuses caught in his throat. It feels a bit like he's back in junior high again, unafraid of the consequences his words might hold, unafraid of plunging through the aftermath of the trouble he gets himself into.

Luckily, Ryousuke doesn't seem to take offense at his new nickname. Instead, he looks even more entertained, possibly more from Kuramochi's internal suffering than any sort of affection.

"Like I said," Ryousuke says, steps forward smoothly to chop him on the head, ignoring Kuramochi's yelp of pain, "I don't really care what you call me. So let's return to the topic at hand, yes?"

"Yeah, of course," Kuramochi blurts out, wiping his hands nervously on his shirt. He doesn't remember what Ryousuke want to talk about, and it must show on his face because Ryousuke whacks him lightly on the head again.

Ryousuke shakes his head. "Stop trying to avoid me," he says, "It's pathetic watching you tiptoe around."

 _Being cautious is not like you_ , Ryousuke doesn't say. Instead, be laces his fingers behind his back and smiles up at Kuramochi, waiting for a response.

Weakly, Kuramochi laughs. "You could tell?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer. "I guess I was overreacting."

"You were."

"To be fair," Kuramochi retorts, tension draining out of his shoulders, trademark smile back on his lips, "You're pretty scary, Ryou-san."

Ryousuke raises his eyebrow. "Good."

* * *

The next day, Kuramochi walks next to Ryousuke as they head to the practice fields, struggling to keep a big, stupid smile off his face. Ryousuke only glances at him once, but seems content to listen to Kuramochi prattle on about anything he can think of.

When they reach the fork in the road that split to the different practice fields, Ryousuke pauses in his step. Kuramochi, already in the motion of heading toward practice field B, looks back to say goodbye, but Ryousuke beats him to it.

Only, instead of saying goodbye like a normal person, Ryousuke says, without much bite, "You better work hard, or you'll be stuck on second string forever."

Kuramochi hears – _you better catch up quickly. We haven't got all the time in the world._

He laughs, bright and sharp, and the early morning sunlight catches on the edge of his smile so, so beautifully. "Sure Ryou-san, whatever you say."

* * *

a/n: please leave a review if you enjoyed this!


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